Secret Diary of Beelzebub
by Chronos Mephistopheles
Summary: What happens when the feared Lucifer is actually a hyper active demon? Between spaz attacks, sugar, being friends with Jesus, and obsessions with Vampires, how are her fellow demons survive? Hiatus
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note : This is mine and a very close friend of mine's parody of Paradise Lost. We loved the book so much we had to make fun of it.

Summary : What happens when the feared Lucifer is actually a hyper active demon? Between spaz attacks, sugar, being friends with Jesus, and obsessions with Vampires, how are her fellow demons survive?

Prologue

Dear Diary,

Today, in the monthly Princely Council meeting, Satan snorted Coca Cola out her nose.

This is the third time this week she's done that during a meeting. Moloch and Belial were amused, while Mammon and admittedly I were not. I had to call order back to the meeting, as usual. You wouldn't think it from the way she led a third of the angels in Heaven in a revolt against God, but the Devil's organizational skills leave much to be desired. She's really the "idea" person of the group, the emotional force; so guess who has to be the logistical one? Most of the time Sometimes I think Hell would be much more efficient if _I_ ran it.

Then again, it wouldn't be nearly as fun. Who else but Satan would think of installing a water slide into the Lake of Fire?

Still, today I beg to know; am I Lord of the Flies, or a babysitter? If it's the latter, I should be getting paid something.

--Beelzebub


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note : This is mine and a very close friend of mine's parody of Paradise Lost. We loved the book so much we had to make fun of it.

Summary : What happens when the feared Lucifer is actually a hyper active demon? Between spaz attacks, sugar, being friends with Jesus, and obsessions with Vampires, how are her fellow demons survive?

Dear Diary,

I had to go collect a few wayward souls today. I suppose, with all the fire and brimstone talk they receive in life, that it's no surprise how many mortals are scared of going to Hell—and it's true, it was designed to be a prison and a place of suffering—but once they see that we're more interested in making the collective stay there more bearable, and less interested in torturing fellow inmates, they slowly accept it. Slowly. Actually, the most prevalent problem is not the fear, but the denial—most mortals are infinitely capable of deluding themselves into thinking that they are the epitome of morality, and therefore due to go to Heaven. But from what I've seen, Heaven is as exclusive a club as it's always been.

So yeah, coaxing the sanctimonious bastards away from the pearly gates was quite a chore, made no easier by our dear Princess of Darkness, who insisted on alternating between playing the stereotypical Devil figure, complete with flaming aura and deep voice, and chattering nonsensically in her usual bouncy, squeaky tones.

"RISE FROM YOUR GRAVES," she boomed, then giggled and squealed, "I _love_ saying that!"

The spirits just stared, dumbfounded.

"What? Why are they staring?" squeaked Satan, blushing and shrinking away. She got self-conscious at the strangest times.

Not wanting to disappoint her by telling her just how un-intimidating she was, I suggested, "Well, perhaps they're just confused. You told them to rise from their graves when they've already _risen_ from their graves. They're at the Pearly Gates, after all."

Satan perked up immediately. "Oh! You're right! Silly me!" She cleared her throat, and the fires flared up around her once more. "WELL, GOOD. CARRY ON RISING THEN."

"But if they keep on rising, they'll just go into Heaven," said Belial, being as much of a pain in the ass as he could. You can never tell him to his face that he's being a pain in the ass, because he'll always respond that he never makes it hurt, unless you want him to. Bless Belial and his homoerotic jokes.

"Oh shit, you're right," said Satan, voice losing resonance again. "WELL, ER, FOLLOW ME, YE WAYWARD SOULS, AND YE SHALL BE LED TO A SANCTUARY OF ALL THE OUTCASTS FROM THE CELESTIAL LIGHT… AND STUFF."

"Okay, people, I'd like to get this show on the road before the Apocalypse," I said, shooing the crowd of souls away from the Gates. One man wouldn't move. He looked like a priest. Figures. He certainly raged and foamed at me enough. I told him that when he'd had a nice long sulk and a good calming-down afterwards he should feel free to join us. "Just follow that black asphalt-looking road," I said, pointing to a path floating some way above the Earth's surface. "The gates are always open."

The crowd finally got moving, some accepting, some bewildered, and some crying for their loved ones left on Earth or in Heaven. We left the minor demons to comfort them; while they gave the impression of being distinctly inhuman, despite their more-or-less human forms, we figured their presences at least weren't so overwhelming as that of a demon lord. Normally a demon lord wouldn't even be brought on an errand like this, but Satan thought it important to stay in touch with her low-ranked underlings and the souls under her care. Seeing their emotions made me agree. It keeps you from objectifying them, fragile and clueless as they are.

Given Satan's perfect timing in distracting me any time I start contemplating anything gravely, I have to wonder if she does it on purpose. In any case, that's what she did; she began to talk to the soul next to her about any thought, however trivial, that flitted through her mind. There was no shortage of them.

"You know, we could really use some fanfare, marching along like this," she said to the man that was staring round-eyed at her, too scared stiff to even nod dumbly. "And a dramatic breeze, you know, to blow our hair back? For effect? You know? Anyway, what was I talking about? Oh yes—dirt clods…"

"U-um, e-excuse me…"said the man.

"Don't interrupt, it's rude," the Devil said primly.

The man practically wet himself.

"It must be important," I said soothingly, and prompted the man to go on.

He swallowed with effort, took a deep breath, and said, "W-why am I here?"

"Well, because it's kinda hard to travel if you don't walk on the road," said Satan, looking over the edge into the chaotic Night around us.

"I mean—why Hell?"

"Oh," she said, and smiled knowingly. "But the real question is: why not Hell?"

As she began enumerating the many benefits of life on the dark side (one of which was, "We have cookies!"), I consulted my list. "Says here you're in for…atheism. You an atheist?"

"Not anymore," he said miserably.

I put a comforting hand on his shoulder as we led the crowds through the gate, to the right, and into the waiting room. There were a few people there already—backlog. That's Hell for you: about twice as many newcomers, and half the staff of Heaven. I addressed the crowd.

"Sorry we're a little low on seating right now. Cerberus just had a litter of puppies, and they're teething."

"They're _so_ cute!" squealed Satan. Also destructive, I amended mentally. You think an earthly puppy is bad? Try one with _three mouths_.

"Anyway, there's coffee and cocoa over at the counter. I'll just finish up your paperwork and get where you need to be in no time."

I came back, and Satan had the scared former atheist down on his knees next to her on the floor, helping her rub the belly of a three-headed puppy. He was smiling, along with most of the people in the waiting room. Sometimes, this job really isn't so bad.

--Beelzebub


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note : This is mine and a very close friend of mine's parody of Paradise Lost. We loved the book so much we had to make fun of it.

Summary : What happens when the feared Lucifer is actually a hyper active demon? Between spaz attacks, sugar, being friends with Jesus, and obsessions with Vampires, how are her fellow demons supposed to survive?

Dear Diary,

MAO. Yes, mao. It's her new word. I want to _strangle_ her. I can understand wanting to use a new word but AFTER EVERY FLIPPING SENTENCE is pretty damn annoying!! For example: I think we should have chocolate chip cookies today…(then changing to frequencies more commonly heard by dogs) MAO!

Ok, I feel better after torturing punctuation. But good God—yes, I'll say that name. Know why? Because the only thing I ever did wrong was to follow Satan. I was perfectly well behaved. I was just the devoted friend of one small, energetic seraph who thought she could make Heaven a little better. Goddamn fool I was, goddamn idealist she was, goddamn stick-up-their-collective-arses Heaven and their inflexibility.

It started so small. She wanted to sing in the heavenly choir. She's fucking tone-deaf. But then, as now, she was a pretty big name (different names, of course, but I'll get to that in a minute); God's right-hand woman, in fact. So no one had the guts to tell her she couldn't carry a tune in a backpack, even me. And you know, in those days, she talked to me a lot.

So, it turns out that she finally got told off by a small, newborn cherub. That killed it there. I kind of feel sorry for the cherub in hindsight… I mean Lucifer told him off, and promptly decided to throw him outside the pearly gates. I think it was a prank. I think. It wasn't long before she got some friends to make sure he couldn't get back in. (I still wonder how she did that so fast.) We got in a lot of trouble for that one. She took that criticism as well as any—not well. Not that I blame her, considering who was doing the criticizing: Michael. He is about as pompous as they come in Heaven. I didn't hear the words that were said, but Michael and Lucifer never spoke kindly to each other again. Every morning I used to wake to the sound of Lucifer and Michael sparring, bantering, or making up after the bouts. They were very close, despite the differences in their personalities.

There were other little arguments after that. The final stroke was quite horrible actually; Lucifer made me swear to never speak of it. It involved a full moon, water gazing, and someone being shoved into water. Someone couldn't swim, and the former ended up having to save her. She's quite ashamed of it actually, the fact she can't swim. The wings didn't help either. She then went along and decided to "burn his ass". Then, all hell broke loose; literally. Then we, meaning all the angels who tried to torture the cherub (not on Lucifer's orders might I mention--some fan club thing) and Lucifer (now calling herself Satan in protest), and myself (who just happened to be there) were thrown in. Not a crowd-pleasing experience, well, if you ignore Satan, who screamed "Whee!" as she fell.

We landed in the lake of fire. Remember the not-able-to-swim thing?

That, as you can guess, was not the worst of Hell. I mean, it's _Hell_. I've always thought the punishment outweighed the wrongdoing, but I guess that's what we've learned to expect from God. That, and I'm quite sure not all of the details have been made known to me. Like I said earlier, Satan doesn't talk to me as much now; she's busy, and easily distracted.

Speaking of which…maybe if I can get her to fixate on a new word, I won't strangle her before the week is out. God, I'm a genius.

--Beelzebub

Dear Diary,

God, I'm anything but a genius. I succeeded in giving her a different word—a much better word, a word she loved so much she's now using it at least twice in every sentence, often going out of her way and stretching the limits of grammar in egregious ways to fit it in.

Now, I'm hearing nothing but the word, "debauchery". I don't think she even knows what it means. The worst part of it is, other demons seem to like the word as much as she does. Belial has of course, latched onto it, and Mammon, normally so reserved, is breaking out of his shell to join in the "fun".

This is how the conversation went:

"Um, my Lady?"

"Yes? MAO!" she said, in her this-had-better-be-important voice. She was holding treats, trying to teach a Cerberus puppy how to attack on command. She was about to release a lunging dog at a mannequin that looked as though it had been painted with gravy.

"If I may ask…" I decided to be direct, since I doubted she would spot a plot against her if she were hit across the face with it. "Why do you keep saying Mao?"

Satan whipped her head around to glare at me, as if I had asked why she was training Cerberus, which hadn't slipped my mind. "Why not say mao, Mao? Mao is like the meaning of life, mao. Mao is like the beloved chocolate sundae lactose-intolerant people want, mao. Why, mao?" She let go of the Cerberus, and it went running towards the lovely gravy smelling puppet. "Aah, no! Come back, Gypsy! Mao!" She went running after it, her now raven black wings fluttering as she tried to hurry after him.

"Um. Have you…ever considered other philosophies on life? There are many, after all."

She glanced at me, interested.

"Oh yes," I continued, on a roll now. "There are other words, poetic words, beautiful all-encompassing, powerful words, every syllable of which rings with the essence of life itself."

She was looking at me as though I possessed more divine knowledge than God Himself. Her mouth was hanging open, and she finally gasped, "Teach me. Oh please, teach me."

There, I thought. I'm a fucking genius. "For example…" I cast around in my memory. "Debauchery," I said at last in a tone laden with gravity.

She nodded slowly, contemplatively, still gaping at me. "Debauchery," she repeated the word with the greatest reverence, wrapping her lips around each syllable as though it was as savory as chocolate.

She broke away from her attempts to pry Gypsy away from the mannequin, and ran out of the room into the corridor. "EUREKA!" she screamed to all denizens of her palace that could hear.

Belial blinked at the sound of the famous scream that came from Satan's lips constantly. "What now, darling?" he teased. She stopped in mid-frolic and grinned evilly.

"Beezie taught me a new word! I love this word! It's like… like…" she stammered for a bit, bringing a bigger grin on Belial's face ("Beezie?"). "Well, Beezie said that it was beautiful and poetic and--and stuff… but it sounds funny too."

"Don't leave me hanging, what's the word?"

"DEBAUCHERY!"

Belial and Mammon, who happened to walk into the room at the wrong time, burst out into maniacal laughter. Belial managed to gasp out, "I highly approve darling! And Beelzebub," he turned his insufferable grin on me. "So glad you've decided to explore your…_philosophical _side. If you want any help with that, you know where to find me." He winked. I groaned.

"Oh! Help _me_! HELP _ME_!" screamed the Princess of Darkness in an ecstasy of spiritual inspiration. I immediately started to drag her away, to save her from herself. "DEBAUCHERY!" she cried again as I towed her off. Belial fell off his chair, he was laughing so hard.

"_I knew_ I followed her for a reason!" He cried after us. I plan on avoiding him for a while. I wonder if this is what Satan felt like when Michael sent Lucifer flying into a lake of Holy Water: helpless.

It went downhill from there. I want to die.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note : This is mine and a very close friend of mine's parody of Paradise Lost. We loved the book so much we had to make fun of it.

Summary : What happens when the feared Lucifer is actually a hyper active demon? Between spaz attacks, sugar, being friends with Jesus, and obsessions with Vampires, how are her fellow demons supposed to survive?

Dear Diary,

This was inevitable. I've worked myself to exhaustion.

I remember meeting a secretary (a brunette, bespectacled succubus wearing just what you'd expect from a sexy secretary costume) to get my signature on an urgent decree for Moloch about an addition to his security detail in the Tartarus compound. I remember being the picture of a demon of envy as I watched the secretary relaxing behind that desk with chewing gum and an ipod. I remember turning, and gathering my strength to sprint for another errand. Then everything went black. They told me when I came to (with an utterly superfluous cold compress on my forehead and thermometer stuck in my mouth) that I had collapsed before taking a step.

I tried to sit up, and was confronted by a veritable forest of hands reaching forward to impede my progress. Nothing was quite so effective as Satan, who had been sitting cross-legged on the bed wearing pink pajamas with little black Baphomets on them, and subsequently jumped me, wrapping both arms around my neck in a grip that only a heavyweight wrestling champion or a four-year-old with severe separation anxiety could match.

"Noooo, Beezie!" she shrieked in my ear. "You need rest! And chicken soup! You, slave," she turned and barked at a random imp, "fetch me chicken soup!"

I pried her off. "Look, I have too many people depending on me right now, but I'll be sure to get some rest just as soon as I—"

"Taken care of," interrupted Belial, who was smiling down at me from the front of the crowd. "Turns out, I _have_ some authority in Hell. Who'd have known? Besides, if we get truly desperate, we can always make _her_ work." He jabbed a finger at Satan, who was industriously blowing on a spoonful of soup to cool it. I scooted discreetly away from the splash zone, and opened my mouth to protest again.

"No, Beelzebub," preempted Mammon. Then, in his best business tone: "You're allotting your resources inefficiently by pursuing these trivial tasks anyway. It's about time you delegated some of your duties."

Couldn't really argue with that.

"Get some rest, then go out onto the town and do something fun," interjected the succubus secretary.

"Or take a trip outside the gates for some fresh air," suggested an anonymous voice from the crowd. Thank you, peanut gallery.

Satan grinned, armed with a new spoonful of soup that was inching its way ominously toward my mouth. "Don't worry, Beezie," she said, slopping the scalding liquid onto my leg as I tried to turn my mouth away from her trajectory. "We'll take care of everything."

I hadn't worried until she said that.

Dear Diary,

Day 1 of my forced vacation: I slept, in a vain attempt to make up for years of sleep missed. I should've kept at it, considering that unconsciousness appears to be the only way for me to achieve peace.

I awoke to the perfect moment: the lake of fire was dimming to embers as it always does to mark the end of the day. The red light shimmered on the cavernous walls of the Devil's domain, and somewhere in the eternal, smoky blackness of the Night above us, I could see a star. You almost never see those from down here. The lights, from pine-and-pitch torches to neon to fragments of magically glowing stone to harnessed miniature suns, were turning on all over the city of Pandemonium. The smells of wax, smoke, perfumes, blood, oils, sweat, and food all floated up to my window. Primal drums, electric guitars, jazz saxophones, and furious piano symphonies of souls obsessed with and tormented by their own music pounded the air below; what drifted up to me was the quiet cacophony of home.

I actually love Hell. I love this active, churning kingdom of gold and fire. I placed my hands on the windowsill and leaned out.

The large, intelligent ravens on the battlements of Satan's palace were clustering, drawing together like a crowd of humans to watch the tiny and very familiar humanoid figure on a balcony below me. She was meticulously laying down a trail of birdseed up to a box marked "RAvin tRAp." She also appeared to be wearing green army camouflage fatigues—among largely warm-toned surroundings. She finished laying the trap and ran over to a pre-constructed shelter with camouflaging foliage attached to it; she then realized she had left behind the string that allowed her to spring the trap, and attempted to discreetly move the entire false bush in the direction of the box.

Belial appeared on the staircase leading up to the battlement, and glanced around. He spotted the bush right away, and stared, looking unsurprised (which told me he had probably been keeping tabs on her for a while now), but amazed at our princess's unfathomable track of mind.

The bush, and the small questing hand reaching out from under it in the general direction of the string, froze. She seemed to be unsure if he had seen her, and intent on not giving herself away.

Belial, to his credit, learned quickly the finer points of keeping our leader entertained, and began to whistle and look off in random directions in a very exaggerated manner. In doing this he spotted me at the window, and I beckoned to him. "Well, I guess she's not here!" he said loudly, and entered into the palace. He'd be in my room in a few minutes. The hand unfroze.

The minute he came in my door, I started to question him, and the minute I started to question him he shushed me, and, rather forcefully considering how lazy and spoiled he acted most of the time, pushed me back into bed. After ensuring my position amongst the plumped-up pillows, he answered a select few of my questions, saying that yes, the paperwork was being processed smoothly and yes, nothing catastrophic had occurred, and adding yes, the world was still turning dear Beelzebub.

"And how is the Princess?" I asked, aloof to his sarcasm.

"Keeping entertained."

"You're keeping tabs on her, I see."

"You know, she doesn't actually need as much…" He petered off as I began to shush him frantically, shaking my head and making the across the throat, cut-it-out gesture. "…Care as you seem to think. Why was I not supposed to say that?"

I groaned, put my face in my hands, and waited for the hammer to fall. "Because every time anyone says that about her, she does something to utterly disprove them. It's like a law of nature."

Belial barely had time to raise an eyebrow, before there was a woody clatter outside, and a few dangerous incantations uttered like swear words, followed closely by the crackle and rush of air as flames sprang to life. The ravens croaked in distress, and we saw one blasted out of the air as it flew past the window. A spot on the curtains caught alight. I put it out with a sigh.

Belial, quicker than I had ever seen the languid demon move, ran to the window and stuck his head out. I winced, rightly so—a fireball barely missed him. "SATAN!" He shouted down.

The sudden interruption threw off the Devil's aim, and one raven got to live a little longer. "What?!" she said irritably.

He continued in a mock whisper loud enough to be heard below, "You're going to wake Beezie."

"Oh! I'm so sor—" she cut herself off, realizing for once the sheer volume of her voice. She fretted a moment as she prepared to speak more softly—it wasn't an easy task, for her. "Sorry!" she hissed. "I didn't wake her, did I?"

"No, but I think we need to go somewhere else."

"Good idea!"

He smirked at me. "Easily solved."

I smirked back. "Try having a social life on top of that."

The smirk only faltered for a tenth of a second. "I think I'll take her into town for some fun."

"I meant an adult social life."

"Get some rest, Beelzebub."

I thought I had topped his argument. I was corrected this evening, when during her visit Satan gave me a detailed account of a strip club, where Belial had apparently left her to watch the show as he busied himself in the back rooms. According to the Princess, the show had been "very boring," but she proudly announced that she had "given those people new clothes."

"That was kind of you," I said distractedly. My thoughts were on other matters—violent homicide, for instance. "Where's Belial right now?"

"He was still in the building when I got bored and left," she said with the carelessness befitting her childlike form.

"You came home alone?" I don't know why I was so concerned—even the idiots who were stupid enough not to recognize the short, adolescent-looking girl would be quickly corrected. Our princess is anything but powerless.

"Nope, 'cause I found _him_ outside, and got him to come home with me!"

She tugged the hand of some hapless mortal she had dragged up with her. When I looked a bit more closely, I saw that he was the former atheist I had spoken to the last time we went to fetch lost souls—the one who had rubbed Gypsy's belly. He looked like someone who had resigned himself to utter confusion. "What's your name?" I asked.

He looked surprised and a little of the nervousness came back—he already realized the value of anonymity when dealing with beings much more powerful than himself. "Bernard Holmes," he said quietly.

"Did he want to be your slave?" I politely asked Satan.

"Who doesn't?" she said with a vain, happy smile. "Slave, fetch me that book! The big blue one!"

He stood, and, without any sort of cringing or obsequiousness, walked over to my shelf, retrieved the book, and handed it to her. She practically wiggled in her seat with the joy of command. Bernard smiled a little. I decided that I rather liked him.

I smiled at him, and tried not to make it threatening—the other princes tell me I'm frightening when I smile. "Do you play chess?"

He decided to be a little daring—I admired him better for it. "Not well. Are you a sore loser?" he asked.

I laughed aloud. "No."

"I play Go."

"That's more than I could have asked for!" I summoned up a board between us. That game and the one after that, and the one after that, were all excellent. Satan stumbling over her out-loud reading of Keats in the background just made it better.

Dear Diary,

The palace was strangely quiet when I woke today. There was no one careening through the halls, or attempts at "imp bowling" (impbowling ball, simply put). There was no evidence of recent violence or public coitus in any of the rooms. There were no explosions.

Even more strangely, some of the doors were shut—usually the palace is a bustling place, with people milling freely from office to office and amidst various forms of recreation. I peeked inside one.

A cloven-hoofed man was scribbling with much effort at a form in front of him. He looked up and greeted me as I came in, apparently relieved for any excuse to take a break from work.

"Good morning, ma'am. How are you feeling?"

"Refreshed…why is it so quiet this morning?"

"Is it? I haven't gone out. Lots of work to do."

He was right. The stack in his "In" box was threatening to topple at any second. It didn't stop him from sliding new papers out from near the bottom of the stack.

"What motivated you to get started on that after all this time?"

"Those are all from yesterday, actually."

I goggled at this. "Piles up rather quickly…to say the least…" He nodded, bent over his form again.

"Does everyone else have this much work to do?"

"Hmm… perhaps. I suppose that would account for the quiet."

I didn't feel like checking the other rooms. The silence was giving me the creeps. I decided to spend the day at the Lake of Fire (which takes some endurance to swim in, by the way). It was still eerily quiet when I came home this evening, so I grabbed my diary, ate out at a sushi bar in Pandemonium, and decided to stay the night at a hotel in the town. The room's the best in the house, and the service has been great so far—I need to get out more. Apparently being royalty in Hell earns you a few perks, though in the palace I guess I'm a bit too busy to appreciate them.

I woke feeling more rested than ever, and breakfasted well. I had more energy than I'd had in decades. That was why I felt up to going back to the palace, deciding that if it wasn't a little less tomb-like by now, I'd have to stir it up myself.

It was a good thing I had a lot of energy.

Satan's palace was alive with blind panic.

Orderlies, secretaries, and servants were running back and forth, holding envelopes, papers, and packages. Phones were ringing madly, although I could swear that we didn't have so many phones—demons usually preferred more magical forms of communication. Most disturbingly of all, however, paperwork was about knee-deep on the floor—and people were just wading through it, intent on their errands, not really registering the strangeness of it all.

I felt a hand grab my shoulder, and I turned. Mammon was there, silvery salt-and-pepper hair uncombed, tie off-kilter, suit jacket unbuttoned, looking like the most frazzled respectable CEO in all the worlds. He was panting as if he'd been running.

"Beelzebub, thank…thank evil you're here. I don't know how it's possible, but nothing is getting done! Paperwork's piling up, and we keep doing it, but it's like it never gets delivered, or it was never done at all… I think we need you back."

Something was definitely wrong about this. "But why should that make the difference…" I glanced around at the scene. "There's no way I do this much paperwork… are you sure this is all new?"

He glanced at the sea of papers on the floor and back at me with a meaningful look. He was right—there was no way this much paper had just sat in everyone's offices. If you even tried to store this much in the offices, it would—

A door to my right burst off its hinges, and a tsunami of paper slammed into Mammon and I. We braced ourselves against it, though it came up to about chest level on me, higher on Mammon. Other demons still hurried around us as if nothing had happened. This amount of bureaucracy was never meant to exist here; even Heaven didn't get this bad. This was insane, and I didn't like it one bit.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?" I shouted to the corridor. It echoed off the walls in the suddenly silent room. It was as though I had broken a spell. A voice faintly shouting for help under the pile of paper in the door of the office could be heard, and several people seemed to wake up further at the sound of this. "You six, dig him out," I commanded, pulling myself up out of the avalanche, and turning to help Mammon. The six to whom I pointed began to claw industriously at the pile, and the buried demon, a youngish man with a forked tongue, came up, spitting memos.

"I want to know where all this paperwork came from," I said.

A minor demon piped up right away, forsaking the usual modes of respect. "It started when you left! We need you back!"

"I couldn't have made that much of a difference."

"But you did! We know you did…Hell can't run without you."

I was touched. Really. But I was also in business mode. "Physically, one person couldn't do that much paperwork, much less on top of advising Satan and all my other duties."

Everyone in the crowd looked at me askance. It was obvious that they easily believed I could do all that.

"And _even_ if I could, I know that I don't." This got a few understanding nods. "So, I think it's safe to conclude that something out of the ordinary is happening here, to use the term loosely." Out of the ordinary, after all, was pretty ordinary for everyone there. But almost all of them nodded or murmured assent now, seeing what I meant. "I want sorcerers, scientists, and metaphysicists of all sorts working on this. I also want these papers burned. I'm pretty sure most of them are superfluous, if they even make sense at all. Report to me when you've come to something like a conclusion."

Suddenly, everyone was productively working, and even the air felt freer. I forsook my usual scholarly duties in favor of helping the burning teams. Torching the papers that took so much of my time might be the most satisfying sort of vengeance I have ever exacted. I could almost hear the screams of the dry, smug little memos as they perished beneath the flames. I walked the halls feeling like a warlord, casting fire spells with what I'm told was a manic grin. Eventually, when the remaining documents had apparently hidden themselves in fear of my wrath, when the sweat was running off my face and I was stalking around in search of more prey, a clerk tapped me on the shoulder and suggested, in the weak tones of someone who has resigned himself to death in the next few minutes, that perhaps I should sit and rest, until the problem surfaced again.

"You believe they'll come back?" I asked dangerously. The clerk cringed for all he was worth. But I wasn't paying attention to him. "If they do, I haven't done my job well enough," I snarled, turning back toward the open corridor. I could practically taste the fear of quarterly reports cowering behind the walls.

"Well, it's what they've been doing all weekend…" he said softly.

"Yes, that's right." My blood ink lust was fading. "What have the sorcerers and the rest come up with, do you know?"

The clerk looked relieved, getting back onto ground he knew. "Actually, I was sent to bring you to hear about it."

The soul of a human provided the explanation. She cited the way that emotions and moods could sometimes affect the people and places around them, if they were strong enough—how laughter is contagious, for instance, or how a ghost haunts a place where violent death occurred. A strong enough phenomenon in the mortal world, it is magnified in the presence of magic, because magic's job is to make one's will reality. Thus—in a highly magical area, like Satan's palace, emotions could have very visible, physical results.

"I think," she said, "your sense of productivity and drive to get work done has been greatly affecting the secretarial work in the palace. It seems that, when you are feeling productive, work gets done of it's own accord. Papers managed to get processed, even when everyone else is largely irresponsible, because your spirit of hard work keeps it going. But otherwise…"

"Massive pileup? Paperwork appearing where it didn't exist before?"

She nodded.

I sighed. "I don't suppose I can afford to go on vacation."

"That's the thing, ma'am," she said, "It's not a matter of how much work you are physically doing. It's a matter of your emotional perspective. I remember that this vacation you just took… wasn't exactly voluntary, to begin with…"

I'm a demon, and don't like to be reminded of moments of powerlessness. Her hesitance was very well merited. "Yes, go on," I said, wanting to dismiss the subject.

She gladly obliged. "Well, in the back of your mind, I think you knew the paper was piling up—so it did. If you want to take a vacation, I believe you either have to be in a state of mind where you feel your work is finished for the time being, or that you can safely delegate it while you're away."

"You mean she's not allowed to stress out?" said a languid, laughing voice from the doorway. "But she'll have nothing left to live for."

"Belial, you should have waited longer than two days before showing your face again." Mortals and demons alike blanched, and scurried from the room. They were sure power was going to fly.

Now I have this theory. It's that, just by the nature of our beliefs, just because we all think of ourselves as "rebels with a cause," demons are all melodramatic at heart. Maybe one or two managed to escape it, or at least can acknowledge it with a cynical eye and have a good laugh about it. But the overwhelming trend among demons is toward grandiose acts and dialogue that sounds badly written. That was why Belial continued to provoke me, instead of trying to avoid the conflict. Or maybe he just realized that it was inevitable, at this point. "You're spent, dear," he said smugly.

"I have something far worse than fire in store for you."

"Oh?" The smugness got a little deeper.

"Yes," I said, and walked past him out of the room.

But now, he has a nickname too, because I told Satan he felt left out not having one, and that he'd protest, but that's just because he didn't want to cause her the trouble. Now, if Satan's nicknaming pattern goes in the direction it always has, he's going to be "Belly."

Dear Diary,

She one-upped my imagination. She christened him "Uncle Belly." I love her so damn much.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note : This is mine and a very close friend of mine's parody of Paradise Lost. We loved the book so much we had to make fun of it.

Summary : What happens when the feared Lucifer is actually a hyper active demon? Between spaz attacks, sugar, being friends with Jesus, and obsessions with Vampires, how are her fellow demons supposed to survive?

Dear Diary!

I found you! Heeheehee. I finally found you. I've seen my Beezie writing in this book so many times, but she's so good at hiding you. She left you out this time, and now your mine. It's not like I'm going to read through it, I'm not that mean. I just want to see what Beezie will do when she finds her book missing. She needs a bit of panic to make this life interesting.

I get so BORED at the meetings, I think they're pointless. We never talk about anything and it just lasts way to long! I mean, someone's gotta train the puppies. Gypsy attacks random spirits and I need to teach him no… I think I should get Beezie to teach him no… she's good at telling me no…

I wanna go to earth. I wanna I wanna I wanna! NOW!

Dear Diary!

I'm getting to go to earth. _I'm so happy!_ Beezie didn't okay it, but Uncle Belly did! Beezie is missing, so I think that she noticed that the diary you are missing! Point for me! Well, I managed to convince Uncle Belly to let me go to earth, seeing as I haven't been up there since well, when Belly took me. But before that was when I spoke to the Eve girl… Why didn't she let me clothe her?

Any who, this is how the conversation went. Despite everything Beezie would have you believe Mr. Diary, I remember everything, and I remember it well. Really well, but no let her know, okays? I tucked this little book into a dresser drawer in my room, skipping out to find Beezie.

"Where you going, darling?" Uncle Belly questioned from sitting on the secretary's desk. He was probably flirting with the new girl I asked for. I figured I should save her, but I had to be discreet. Uncle Belly couldn't know I was trying to save her from a mistake. I do NOT need demon-hybrid babies running around here.

"Uncle Belly," I came up and pulled on one of his arms, my eyes getting teary. "I can't find my Beezie, where did she go?" I let a few tears fall, and Uncle Belly's confident smirk dropped. "What if she ran away? What if she left me? Who's gonna teach me new words?"

Uncle Belly slid off the desk, prying my hands from his robes, already in disarray. Apparently the duo had been pretty busy, I'm gonna have to punish him for that. "Don't worry about it; she's probably inspecting the new souls. She always goes to observe those, you know that."

I bit my lip and lowered my head to the ground. "But, but, but she always tells me when she's leaving me!" I cried, the image of utter defeat. If I was human, I should totally be an actress. I'd be like.. like.. some famous actress that's going to come to hell one day! Yesh!

Uncle Belly allowed me to sob my eyes out until I looked like hell, or the image that everyone assumes my palace is situated on looks like. Yes, I do have a palace. I had it erected within a week of being cast out of heaven. I didn't take it personally. I considered it moving up in life, even though I was technically moving down to hell. Plus who wants to live in a gated community? I mean, common! A Gated Community! My palace is three times larger than that of dear ol' God's and ten times as prettier! The black butterfly-winged gargoyles really add a nice touch to the overall effect of –

Uncle Belly told me that he would make it up to me in any way I chose. He started throwing out suggestions, like shopping in Hell's Main Octagon (octagon is such a cool sounding word, isn't it?), sleeping together, eating fine food in the kitchens, sleeping together… I don't really understand the idea of sleeping together. What's the big deal of sharing your bed? I mean, you're allowing them to sleep on your bed, what's so wrong with that?

So then I was all: "I need to go to Earth."

And he's all: "Why?"

"My need to see all of earth is like that of…." I looked around, hoping for a demon whose name I would remember would pop into my head. I made sure I was quite obvious, cause Uncle Belly never suspects ill will when I 'try' to pull a fast one. And then my savior came around the corner. It was Mammon, looking for me to sign the paper as a formality. I started again, "My need to see all of earth is like that of Mammon's secret fantasies!"

Mammon paused in mid-step looking at me like I'm crazy… which I do not deny I am. "What?" Uncle Belly looked at me interested, like you couldn't come up with something better? But I continued.

"Yeah, Mammon has secret fantasies, and he wants Hell to know, but he's so scared that he'll get kicked out of hell like he did heaven. Cause God must've known!" I was grasping for straws, Mammon do something!

"She has no idea what she's talking about." Mammon shook his head, a faint blush staining the demon's cheeks. HA! He gave in! He was broken… but… I was right? Mammon does have fantasies? Hm…. Maybe that's why Uncle Belly immediately perked up and then said he'd take me tomorrow. And that he had to find me some clothes that'd fit. Apparently I'm really tiny.

But I thought I was the size of an average human being… apparently I'm too small for any clothes Uncle Belly has that I can borrow. Clothes for his secretary I bet. Why is he hitting on my secretary anyway?

Dear Diary!

I'm so happy. I just tried on the clothes Uncle Belly found for me, and they fit perfectly! Uncle Belly said they should, since he'd been studying me, whatever that means. I'm just so happy, it means I can go to Earth! Where to go first? What should I do? Go to Disneyland, or see the famous works of Michelangelo? So many choices!

I know I'm going to remember these clothes for a long time, but should I write them down? So when Beezie finds you she has a list of all the things that Uncle Belly has done since she went freaky-deakie? Yea, I should. I'm wearing a…um… skirt… really short one too. But Uncle Belly says its supposed to be this short, so whatever. And a small shirt… with no sleeves… and it shows my tummy.

I only have to say that I did not tell people to dress like this… I think a nice pair of robes is perfect, for anytime of the year in Hell. Why would I wear something so… revealing? I feel, I feel like a … a… I don't even know the word I feel that outta place.

Though… I don't mind the looks I get from the newbie spirits. They don't know I'm Satan, so I'm going to milk it for all its worth! When I started to walk towards the group of… the upper-class twenty year olds… Uncle Belly pulled me away. "Not so fast kitten, we have many other souls to screw."

"Screw? What do you mean screw?" I questioned, holding onto one of his belt loops. There wasn't anywhere else to grab, with all his skintight clothing. I think Uncle Belly adjusts well to the change in the times. I still dress like I'm in heaven. Even Beezie has changed her outfits a little bit…

"I mean sleep with, Satan darling." I could see the already pale spirits nearby pale even more so, and I couldn't help the faint smile.

"I still don't get the big deal with that."

"I'll show you."

Bernard… I think that's his name… Bernard came running forward, panting heavily for a spirit. "Satan, we… we have… a problem."

"A problem?" I felt myself get worried. Bernard is always so calm, especially since I got him used to playing with Gypsy. I like him, I want him to stay with me for a long time. I don't think I'd ever get bored with Bernard. He always finds someway to entertain me… Just like Beezie!

"Cerberus broke free, and she's eating some wayward spirit at the door." I don't know why I put a door at the entrance to Hell. It doesn't serve a purpose, its not like people are gonna try to invade Hell, it's usually the other way around. I need to see if I can get hell expanded, we're running out of room. Ding Dong, I need to talk to cousin Jesus!


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note : This is mine and a very close friend of mine's parody of Paradise Lost. We loved the book so much we had to make fun of it.

Summary : What happens when the feared Lucifer is actually a hyper active demon? Between spaz attacks, sugar, being friends with Jesus, and obsessions with Vampires, how are her fellow demons supposed to survive?

Dear Diary,

Thank God Satan Whoever I found you. Fortunately for my guileless superior, you weren't shown to anyone. I don't understand how the entity who is apparently the root of all evil doesn't even think to blackmail her right-hand-woman firmly into her subordinate place with her own diary.

We had a meeting with Heaven. They happen every so often, at Heaven's behest—normally we don't care enough to ask them to meet with us, or, in some cases, the emotional baggage is just too great. I'll admit it—we've made quite a party of Hell, but we haven't made a Heaven of it. And really, it's the people we miss, not the perks: Raphael, Zaphikiel, and Gabriel are all souls I wish I could speak with again. But they have changed too, from what I've seen of them; Gabriel used to have this sense of humor you could never pick up on unless you were looking closely. Now you can't find it at all—if it's yet living.

You'd think because of this that the tone of the meeting would be somber at best, volatile or outright dangerous at worst. For most of the angel and demons attending, it was: Gabriel never met any of our eyes, staring stonily at the sheaf of parchments (they're traditional, as always, in Heaven) she had, and Michael never stopped sneering at us. Even Belial couldn't smile more than a forced and venomous smirk. I know how I look by the time those meetings are over: especially drawn. But our Morningstar showed no such feelings, and never has, which I suppose it makes sense—she has never followed rules, even social ones. So she sees nothing untoward in acting in a perfectly affectionate manner toward the being that is her greatest enemy, prophesied to bring about her downfall, etc.

The moment Jesus shambled over the threshold, in his usual white robes and sandals, Satan made a flying leap toward his midriff, and attached herself there like a leech. A series of joyful keening noises, with no discernable speech pattern, issue from her grinning mouth, and Jesus smiled in amusement and happiness at seeing his friend. Yes, friend. It's not just one sided, Lucifer longing for what she lost. He's friends with her too, and from what I've seen gets considerably less uptight when she's around. Beatific prophet blessing the masses? Nope—more like a teenage smartass. For a God who holds obedience in such high regard, He lets His son get away with a lot of crudeness.

"Jeeeeesussssss!" Satan cooed, burying her face into his robes. "I misseded you! Don't leave so suddenly again! I wanted to show you my CASTLE of DOOM!"

"You know, Luci," Jesus began, he was the only one who really dared continue to call Satan be her real name, "I think you need to add some lights in here, underneath the dead vines for some dramatic effect."

Satan nodded, her eyes wide. She pouted a bit. "I tried last time, remember? Michael," her she glared at said archangel who subconsciously flinched away, "took them down because they weren't fit for the HOLY SON." She seemed to hiss in Michael's direction, and Jesus took great liberties in patting Satan's back comfortingly to calm her down.

Michael's lips parted slowly as he took a deep breath. Apparently the archangel thought he was allowed to defend himself, the fool. "The Traitor to the Throne had lit candles under dead plants. Obviously they would have caught on fire and burnt down the very place upon which we stand."

Satan rolled her eyes. "And who was it that threw a bunch of magical beings into a lake of fire? Wouldn't it be obvious that if we survived, no doubt **you'd** survive from a tiny, itty bitty fire?"

Jesus couldn't help but jump in the nagging. He always chose Satan's side, I'm utterly surprised she hasn't convinced him to live in Hell with us, he'd have way more fun. "Hey, aren't I the one who can walk on water, and turn water to wine, and multiply fish and bread?"

"Where are you going with this?" asked Satan, obviously bored. "Wait…are you gonna say you can do that with ice cream too?!"

Jesus flapped his hands in a very un-savior-of-the-human-race kind of way. "In a minute! What I mean to say is, even if nobody else can, I can summon water. Fire? Big fucking deal—I'm the Son of God." He puffed out his chest a little.

"I'm the daughter of God! Just what are you saying—that just because your reproductive organs are on the outside instead of on the inside, doesn't mean you're better than me!" With a cry of "male chauvinist pig!" Satan tackled Jesus to the floor. Michael was still trying to find a good response, Gabriel was sighing and tugging Michael's sleeve in a just-don't-even-try manner, and Belial and I were staring, brains struggling to process the subtle aspect of this conversation that was wrong. Belial found it first.

"She…has a grasp of the male anatomy? Since when? And why wasn't I involved?" I did something I hadn't in a while—offered up a quiet prayer of thanks. I glanced down at the two figures on the floor and sighed. Jesus had Satan's hands pinned above her head, sitting calmly on her waist while Satan tried to kick him, lash out at him. She even tried to bite him.

Jesus gave a grin. "I win."

"Like hell you do," Satan hissed, her eyes narrowed in anger. He reached out with one hand and poked her in between the ribs; to which Satan issued an uncontrolled giggle and lost all aspects of anger in her form. He poked her again and then followed up with a full-fledged tickle attack that left Satan kicking and screaming trying to escape. I couldn't help but feel disappointed in Satan; I thought Satan would have been a little bit more capable in defending herself from such attacks.

With a lucky kick, Satan managed to get Jesus off her, where she proceeded to kick him in the shins until she was a 'safe distance away' from the tickle fiend. Her eyes playfully glared at the Son of God as he stumbled to the chair. Satan pouted and moved down the table to her official spot as Princess of Darkness. The duo sat completely opposite one another, and turned their attention to Gabriel. I sighed happily, maybe for once we'd actually get some work done on the first of a human week of meetings.

"We need to discuss incursions into Purgatory," said Gabriel looking me in the face for the first time in a century. There was no trace of recognition or sympathy in her eyes, until I looked far below the surface. She was sad. I hate seeing her like that. I can barely remember what her smile looks like now.

I started in my smoothest tone. "As was agreed, demons can make incursions into Purgatory for souls who have dwelt there for a specific amount of time, or for lost souls who can't find their sphere. We've adhered to these conditions." I should know—I have to enforce them.

In my peripheral vision, I saw Jesus taking a spare piece of parchment from Gabriel's notes. Gabriel continued, ignoring him as thoroughly as if he weren't there. No impractical deference from her—she was beyond Michael's level of rigid formality—someone who had to operate on a sensible level, like me. "This is true. But we feel that a uniform time period for a variety of different souls—people not only with different levels of spiritual acuity, and therefore prone to different rates of reform, but with different levels of sin to be cleansed. Instead, perhaps a soul should only be taken once he or she is beyond hope."

"You sound very reasonable," I responded, "but let me ask you: who would be the judge of when a soul is beyond hope? That would be Heaven, right?"

Gabriel squirmed. Really, it was a transparent diplomatic ploy, and she was smarter than that. She must have been trying to distract me from more important concessions, I realized, though we never got around to them. Michael had to open his mouth.

"Of course. Heaven is the higher authority," he blabbed, not realizing the point was already moot. Gabriel cringed at the bluntness that was only making her job harder. I felt her pain, I really did—I'd been in that situation more times than was possible to count—but she was technically my enemy now, so I didn't feel terribly sorry to see her political maneuvering being shut down.

What I didn't want, of course, was Belial to exacerbate the situation like he did. "Oh come on, Michael, you can't be the big, bad, righteously smiting angel every time," purred Belial in the most quietly offensive way imaginable. "Allowing someone else control is so important, for your spiritual health. Even being on the other end of a good smiting can be a learning experience. At least, when it's one of yours."

Satan perked up at this. "Would you like to take control Belial? I'd be happy to allow you to pretend and play dress-up." More like dress down, I couldn't help but think cynically.

Belial shot Satan a seductive smirk. "Of course, Satan darling. I'll visit you tonight." He turned his attention back to Michael, who scooted his chair away just a smidgeon. "Just as soon as I'm finished with mister high and mighty over here."

"Okay," Satan smiled happily. "Have your fun. I'll be waiting for my turn." Even Jesus paused mid-breath. Gabriel stared at me. I shook my head firmly in response to her unspoken question. Gabriel seemed to believe it—she knew Satan once, after all.

Gabriel cleared her throat loudly, turning the attention back to business, and flipped her parchment to the next sheet. Reading the title, she bit her lip as a paper football stuck itself into her dark curls, Jesus and Satan chuckling.

"Luci… you're supposed to aim."

"…Oh! Let me try again!" Satan waved at Gabriel, "Can I have that back?"

"No," I answered for her.

"Watch this," said Jesus insufferably. "Michael, can I have that back?"

Michael came the closest to disobeying his superior I had ever seen—but that's not saying much. He handed the football over to a chuckling Son of God after about a quarter of a second's delay—as opposed to a smaller fraction, yeah.

"He has you _whipped_," smiled Belial. Jesus cracked up.

Dear Diary,

We're officially half way through the week of hell, no pun intended. Between Belial and Michael's sexual tension, Jesus and Satan's play time, and Gabriel and me trying to get work done… I want to kill someone. Satan can't help herself, so I cannot blame her. However Belial on the other hand, he has no excuse. Do have to thank him however, he found a couple of books to distract the Princess of Darkness.

It happened at the meeting yesterday, the darling princess doodling dangerous symbols on another piece of stolen parchment, Jesus watching over her shoulder. I'm pretty sure I saw something that looked like a magic circle, and a dangerous symbol in our world. I could hear he mumbling to Jesus something about goat's blood and a piece of garlic; Jesus nodded sagely, reaching over now and then to edit the circle.

Michael sat squirming in his seat, most likely tempted to try to attack and harm the princess. Apparently she was too close to the savior for Michael's own preference. He also was probably wondering where the last demon was. It was uncommon for Belial not to be on time when it came to torturing Michael.

Half way through the semi-uneventful meeting (semi-meaning not unless you count Satan's predictable greeting for Jesus), Belial stormed into the room, carrying a trio of books. He dropped them in front of the lost and confused Satan, her eyes watching him in worry. "Belly?" Seeing her worry, maybe a small bit of fear of the lack of happy sexuality radiating off of him, Belial relaxed, quickly, quietly.

"I found you something to read." He leaned forward, taking the pen and parchment from her hands. The closer Belial got, the farther Satan slid down the back of her chair. "I'm told it's popular on earth, and I figured you were bored reading Keats." Satan nodded, reaching for the books on the table. Her eyes were wide in awe and fear.

I couldn't help myself. "Belial, quit scaring her." His eyes flicked over to me and Gabriel, sitting on the same side of the table debating quietly without Michael, Jesus or Satan's input. "She thinks you're going to eat her."

"I will if she asks me to," an eyebrow raised in question and Satan quickly shook her head. Her eyes were turning the size of dinner plates, and I could almost see her shake. "Not tonight then." He wandered down the table to his specific chair, directly across from Michael. Grinning evilly, he licked his lips. "Hello, Michael."

"Thank you for the books, Belial. Do you need a break? I don't need input just now." I said, trying my hardest to avert the oncoming disaster—trying to encourage him to take out his tension on more willing, less dangerous people.

"Are you trying to dismiss me, Beelzebub?" he hissed silkily, effectively cutting out my objections. He turned back to Michael before I could answer. "Imagine, presuming to keep me from my pleasure. I'm used to taking that wherever I want."

"You are frivolous, foolish, and not worth my time, demon."

"But you answered," murmured Belial, then pressed on quickly, "foolish, yes—I know it's foolish to wish for something long beyond my hope; something as beautiful and unattainable as the divine." Belial's normally sly smile became somewhat rueful.

Michael looked at him askance, not sure whether Belial referred to him or to something broader. "The divine?"

A breath-length pause, and then: "Yes. I don't know. I just…miss you. Or maybe I just miss the things you represent. I miss nobility, and _discipline_…and…"

Michael was looking disturbed. I felt less than confident. Belial seemed _utterly sincere_. That was ridiculous, of course, because even in Heaven Belial had never played by the rules—he was notorious for having explored some rather un-angelic pastimes on the side.

Michael finally overcame his caution. He stood, and Belial stood slowly too. They both moved around the table to come face to face. "You seek forgiveness? You?"

"I tried so hard to convince my fellows, and my enemies—and myself—that I didn't, that I could live without the light of God. But I can't. I need you, Michael. I need you to infuse me with divine ecstasy." The lustful spark came into his eyes again, and his smile grew wide and irreverent. "I need you to purify me—make me penitent, great archangel! Let me kneel before you, and anoint my face with your holy water." He fell to his knees, placing his face dangerously close and at a rather strategic level.

I snorted with half-contained laughter at that one. I was probably a little hysterical about how catastrophic the next few moments would be for both sides.

"Very well," said Michael.

Silence. Dead silence, from everyone in the room. Then, Belial, "What?"

"I shall grant you this, but only if you sincerely beg for my mercy."

Belial looked as though his darkest and most depraved wet dreams had just come true. "Hell, yes," he said, still in a flat, disbelieving, and utterly aroused tone.

Michael cupped Belial's chin in hand, leaned down and said, "No."

"What?" The tone was simply bewildered this time.

Michael's grip shifted, and suddenly he was hauling Belial up by the throat, shoving his back onto the tabletop. "I said no, you disrespectful, deceitful, revolting, creature. Even if it were in my power to forgive you, you would never ever deserve it. And even if you did, you would never ask, never want anything higher than the sin you are steeped in."

Belial tried to smirk in defiance of the chokehold. "Michael, you tease."

The archangel slapped him so hard his head bounced on the table. He turned to Gabriel. "The Savior and I must leave now. If our assistance is at all needed, contact me—but I beg you not to otherwise."

Gabriel nodded mutely, and Jesus and Michael vanished.

She said into the silence and expectant looks, "You know, teasing Belial back was my idea. But I didn't anticipate that ending. It was not our intention to start a war."

"Nor ours, though Michael certainly took a running leap at it," I said, trying the most diplomatic way I had of wringing recompense out of her. Gabriel looked apologetically at me in a way that told me I'd get what I wanted. For once, one of these interminable meetings had come to good.

"By our lady Lucifer," whispered Belial hoarsely, rubbing a bruised temple, "he doesn't know what he's done."

"Belial, I assure you, we will repay—" began Gabriel.

"No, I'm not angry. That was his intent. No," the demon's smile grew huge. "Anything but angry.

"I want that man more than anything in this _cosmos_, do you understand? I will have him if it _kills_ me."

"Which it likely will."

He ignored me. "I am going to get in his pants before the Apocalypse," vowed Belial. Then, as an afterthought, "But he'll beg me first."

Without Jesus to play with, Satan had nothing to do but read her new books. Sure, things calmed down after few days and Michael and his holy charge returned, but the Devil kept reading.

I looked up around midday, hearing Satan gasp. She had two of the three books finished, her eyes wide as she read the page before her. Her cheeks were flushed and it was obvious she was lost in the realm of the book. It was always amusing to watch the Princess of Darkness, her facial expressions change, she gasps and giggles. But this book, this series of books. I could feel the unease weld in my stomach.

"Satan," I raised my voice, trying to get her attention. She completely ignored me. "Satan," I called again, letting agitation edge my voice. I wasn't really angry or agitated, but it was the quickest way to get her attention; to make her think she's in trouble.

Satan's eyes rose to meet mine, a finger pointing to the exact spot she left on the page. "What?" If I wasn't immortal, and if looks could kill, I'd probably be walking through Hell's Gate right now. Her face was contorted in anger, pissed for lack of a better word; and her eyes glowed like the lake of fire. This couldn't be good; she was becoming the epitome of hell itself.

"May I ask you to be quieter?"

"No!" She growled; I blinked. She actually bared her teeth at me. That was a first. "If we're having the meeting here than you can just deal with it, 'cause I **rule** here." She hissed and turned her attention back to the book. Belial immediately realized the cause of her irritation and snatched the book from her hands, a cry of outrage leaving her lips as she tackled the demon to the floor to no avail. The book was no longer in sight; only Gabriel and I managed to see Jesus sneak a quick grab at the book in question and stash it in one of the planters nearby.

She sat up, sitting across Belial's stomach, her fiery eyes searching for the book; I'm pretty sure she sniffed the air too. "Give me my book." She growled, baring her teeth again. She lowered her gaze to Belial's and I could almost see the thoughts that ran through his eyes. Instead of fear, he was probably thinking of how much better the position would be if Satan was in some colored teddy and wasn't glaring at him. Figures.

"No."

Satan stood up, her dark wings spread out wide behind her; looking ready to deal judgment. "Fine!" her voice was filled with anger and spite. This was the voice everyone should have recognized as the devil's; it was much more terrifying than the common conception of deep and booming. The very tone spelt out, "doom". That phrase, "Hell hath no fury like that of a scorned maiden didn't do her any justice at all. "I don't need the damn book. I'll go find a real one myself!"

Jesus stopped the princess of darkness at the door. "Find what, Luci?"

She almost pouted and stomped her foot, but instead a thin eyebrow twitched. "I'll go find a vampire. A real one is a gazillion times better than some god damn book!" She squeezed her way between Jesus and the doorframe, and took off to only who knows where.

That was when Michael finally decided it was safe to speak. "Fuck."


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry, if you are a fan of this story. Took me a while to decide this chapter is long enough and that it should be fine to cut it off here. If you have any ideas for the next entry, let me know**

Dear Diary,

These past few days…there has been so much change in these past few days. I've finally gotten a moment to myself, away even from—well, I'll get to that. I just need to get my thoughts out in order, badly.

The Princess disappeared before I could catch her. We suspended all meetings, of course, but then I had to worry—the higher ups in Heaven knew the Devil was absent from Hell—the head of power gone, leaving Hell largely exposed. Fortunately, they left the place alone; perhaps they were truly merciful, perhaps it wasn't in God's plans. I doubt I'll ever know. They missed their chance, in any case: Satan was gone, and half of the other six lords of Hell were out looking for her.

Aura tracking was never the forte of any of the princes, except maybe Leviathan, who remained behind, for obvious reasons. Fortunately, Satan's wings were molting. The black feathers, and their propensity to make churches catch on fire wherever they landed, made it a little easier to follow her trail.

She went to Disneyland first.

I saw why she loved the place so much—it was full of loud, hyperactive, whiny, messy, easily distracted children who were just like her. As they ran screaming past my thighs, I wanted to ask Belial why he had given in and taken her here. Then I remembered his answer for everything, and decided I didn't want to know.

We stood out in the crowd—two tall, leather-clad young adults in the midst of children and parents. We made the parents pull their young whelps closer simply for that reason; the kids didn't object. One oblivious one wandered too close, and one direct glance from me was enough to make him freeze and wet himself. The reception was as fearful as one could expect from a crowd of mortals placed in the presence of two princes of Hell, no matter how veiled.

As we wandered the streets of some place called Frontier Land, a group of oddly dressed teenagers turned and pointed. Their wide-eyed gazes stared at us with conviction and awe, a mix slowly turning into confusion. I shared a look with Belial, ignoring their stares. It was quite easy to get used to, but once we were within speaking distance, one decided to try. "Excuse me?" He was male, age approximately seventeen with insanely pointed hair. "Are you from… from Organization XIII?"

I considered the name. Where had I heard that? Ah, yes, that one cult in downtown Pandemonium—highly superstitious, believed in all the bad luck myths and worshipped them. That place had ladders over all the doorways, and more black cats in it than a crazy cat lady could ever aspire to. It is inadvisable to walk under their front windows—they tend to toss mirrors out of them.

"No," I said with certainty. "And honestly, if you're affiliated, don't believe what they say—they have no power Down Below. Just as overrated as Scientology if you ask me."

They looked askance at Belial. "But you have the hair."

He looked just as askance at the adolescent. "…Hair."

"Like Axel."

Belial looked at me. "I'm just as lost as you," I admitted. A girl with her hair visibly dyed a deep auburn pulled a picture out of her pocket, unfolding it gently. She handed it over to me, my gaze sweeping across the page, immediately finding the person they spoke of. Belial had the hair. I let him take a glance. "What do you think, recognize them?"

Belial studied the picture intently. "I'm pretty sure I'd remember someone as hot as him. I don't think I would be so stupid to let him get away." A feral grin crossed his lips before the look dropped when I handed the paper back to the teens.

"I do not recall anyone in here." I pushed my way through the group. "If you'll excuse us, we have a mission to finish here."

Belial sighed, winking at a rather busty female in the group of teens that surrounded us. "Unfortunately she's right. Gotta go retrieve the Superior," he chuckled wryly as he followed behind; both of us ignoring the heated whispers and gossip following. Maybe the phrase Superior wasn't the best choice, but it made them leave us alone.

Three more hours of mindless searching and we decided to give up on the Satan is still in Disneyland bit, pissed and exhausted for wasting our time in childish rides and speaking with insignificant mortals. The trail of feathers ended in a small alleyway across the way from the theme park. The mound of the all suggested this is where the princess slept for a night before continuing on.

"Damn she's determined." Belial whistled in awe, leaning back against the brick wall nearby. I shot him a look. We wouldn't even be on this epic search for a fallen angel princess if he hadn't bought her those damn books. The princess wouldn't even be looking for a stupid vampi—My gaze met his as an idea brightened in my mind.

"She's looking for a vampire."

"Uh, yeah?" Belial shrugged. "Your point?"

I drew my arms around myself, stretching my back. "Where would she assume a vampire would be? Is there any place vampires would reside?" Belial raised an eyebrow before appearing to look thoughtful. He has to be humoring me, no way he could be thinking about this seriously.

"In the book series the vampires attend high school before starting college. Maybe we could try there." His clear demonic gaze rose to the heavens, the thoughtful look remaining on his face. "Average universities would be shut down for the day, but it should start back up again in about seven hours." His gaze dropped and he gave a small smirk. "Willing to wait that long?"

I really had no choice. I licked my lips as I surveyed the area, my eyes following the trail of molted feathers. It would make sense that Satan would follow the books she read; she was obsessive like that sometimes. Belial began to try to get comfortable against the bricks, hoping that I would choose to stay here for the night. No such luck. "I'm going to continue following her feathers. Come on." I held back the urge to start dragging him alongside me.

The next morning we ended up in some college filled with frat boys and sorority girls. It could have been what some mortals refer to as Rush week, or it could just have been a normal day in the college; however all the bright colors was to our benefit. Satan should be quite noticeable in her pure black cloak and tiny frame. Wandering through hallways and school buildings gave us no leads, anything to follow. The unnatural wind in the school pushed the molted feathers around, making it practically impossible to follow the damn items.

We wandered past room after room, but the aura was as erratic as the feathers—too many older, more complex people here than in Disneyland, clouding the signal. Students hurried past with books, formed lines in front of food stalls, or sloppily displayed their lust. Belial couldn't resist some subconscious interference as he passed: the most amusing example of which was a pair of burly frat boys, sharing the sort of macho one-armed hug of their breed, who suddenly sent an alarming amount of sexual tension into the psychic atmosphere. The Prince of Sloth snickered, and magically shifted one of their hands just the tiniest bit it needed to be to go from a platonic gesture to a compromising position. I had to laugh.

What happened next was discombobulating, to say the least. We heard our names. Then we heard the Princess's, repeated several times. Not something often done outside of evangelism, a joke, or fear. But then, this was academia. We poked our heads into the lecture hall.

"It is from this passage that we have the strongest evidence of Blake's opinion, that Milton was 'a member of the Devil's party without knowing it.'"

"No, he wasn't," I said before I could stop myself. "Milton was a pious ass, through and through."

The professor, bespectacled, graying, and pompous, looked flabbergasted. "That is a matter which is highly subjective, and even the experts—"

"—Wouldn't know as well as I. Believe me. I've never lost any paperwork."

The old man glared. "Exactly how do you ignore the implications of Satan's monologue in Book one?"

"Milton was a rebel against the English monarchy only—he was a toadying sycophant to God. Human hypocrisy and paradox, which is a lot more typical than your literature would lead you to believe, as it operates in a language of symbols, not human souls. Milton just happened across something brilliant—really received it from an external muse, like all the epic poets claim. It didn't make him any less of a puritanical twit."

The students either stared or applauded—more for the way I stood up to their authoritarian teacher than for the point I made, I'm certain. Belial smirked and whispered, "You know, I can't resist a nerdy girl."

"Sucks for you, then. Let's go."

"We did get Blake though!" Belial tossed over his shoulder. "He showed me _his_ Garden of Earthly Delights—"

"Going. Now. Move." To be perfectly honest, I was a little jealous that he'd slept with Blake.

In summary, we couldn't find her anywhere. We must have searched every millimeter of that campus. The day dropped into dusk. I got more and more worried, as did Belial, though he tried not to let that effect him—one thing I have learned about him is that he doesn't worry mostly because he knows that worrying solves very few problems, and causes plenty. I would not see the logic of this. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop, to receive Intel that Heaven was waging war again, in out moment of weakness, or that Hell was crumbling because Satan, the source of its power, had ceased to exist somehow, or had become unreachable. She's more than just a leader, to us; and though Hell was created out of the genius and effort of many, Lucifer was the only creature with the raw power to keep it all woven together against all the odds.

Not to mention, I'm not sure what I'd do if she died. I'm not sure I could make it.

I think it was right around that thought that I just stopped dead and went into hysterics. I barely remember what I said—so much of it was useless and ridiculous, and full of the sort of despair and fear that would be shameful in a prince of Hell. Belial didn't guilt me out of it, like he probably should have. He just tried to calm me down, to reassure me that it was useless to be afraid, and that we didn't know anything—but I didn't stop. I was in a fully-fledged shouting fit. He was thin-lipped and silent, and his eyes were getting wider. He told me after the fact that he had never seen me so unsure, and it scared him. In fact, it scared him so badly his mind, whizzing through frantic possibilities of what to do to make me ok, to make everything ok again, and shut down completely. And then, he was left with nothing but the base command of his being. I don't think I need to explain what the base command of his being is.

He suddenly reached over, and nearly yanked me off my feet as he pulled me into a deep kiss.

Ladies and gentlemen, all that practice is NOT for nothing. Belial is a spectacular kisser. And my mind, and all its worries, shut off too.

When we pulled apart When you caught your breath, you mean When we pulled apart (and I finished feeling too awkward to write because a certain smug demon is leaning over my shoulder trying to get his unsavory kicks from a sex scene—now he's stopped, thank Hell, and I can write), I asked, "What are you doing?"

Belial looked shifty. Probably because I've threatened to kill him in the past if he ever made a move on me—or maybe the simple awkwardness of having thrown caution to the winds and kissed someone who has pointedly argued that she has no interest in you, or ever will. In any case, his answer was a winning smile and "Um…providing you with the solace and support of steadfast friendship?"

"Uh huh," I said, very skeptical.

He shifted from foot to foot a little more, and I smirked in amusement until I remembered what he'd distracted me from: the fear that one of the most important people in my life was dead.

I must have gotten my hysterical expression back on my face, because he started to speak. "It's okay, she's not dead, we'll fi—" was about as far as he got before I kissed him back.

Okay, I think I need to mention again that I was _hysterical_. And not in my right mind. And all that. And that I was really desperate for someone else to take charge and make it better, instead of me being the only competent one for miles around and having to come up with the solutions when I'm all out of them.

And--I'm going to have to enchant a lock onto this diary after I write this--Belial is _attractive_. Not to mention a sweet, gentle, strong, supportive person when you most need him to be.

So when I asked him to distract me until I calmed down, he did, in the best possible of ways.

I woke up with him, the next day, post-coital glow interrupted when I nearly panicked again, realizing how much time had been wasted. But then I caught it; a tiny tendril, faint among the myriad other auras; but my psyche dove after it, and held it fast. Satan's aura. I woke Belial, and we began the search anew.

The 'club' we were led to was small, hidden behind a much popular and Belial-frequented nightclub. Inside the room, it looked like all the walls but the necessary ones to call it a house were torn down to make the dance floor larger. In corners were leather coaches littered with couples and threesomes alike; in addition to the usual groping and make outs, many of the paramours appeared to be engaging in theatrical dialog, or biting each other's necks. Strobe lights and lasers flashed together with the deep techno beat that pulsated through the room. A mass of bodies grinded, hopped and moved together in the center. I looked at Belial. It was an impenetrable wall of latex- and leather-clad flesh.

Belial looked at me. Then he grinned the grin of the deeply, happily depraved, and announced, "I'm going in!"

"First time you bothered to warn anybody."

When Belial emerged from the crowd, he dragged with him the Princess, clad in skintight low-rise black leather pants that clung to every nonexistent curve the fallen angel had, her form still imitating that of a twelve-year-old girl. Shin high boots had belts and buckles holding the fabric together, like garb straight out of a bondage video. Her top was small, a black string bikini, revealing her thin, tiny stomach. Long lithe arms were covered in fishnet gloves, a heart earring hanging from an ear, her hair pulled back off her neck. It was completely out of character for her.

My biggest shock, however, was the _angel_ that Satan clung to. It was quite obvious what he was with the way his skin seemed to emanate purity. Combed out milk-chocolate brown hair and hazel eyes stood a whole head higher than the Princess, his face slightly flushed at her lack of clothing and the way she was pressing herself up against him. The boy/angel/thing wore a silk dress shirt, untucked and slightly unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows. Slightly clingy black jeans hugged his long legs and rested atop dress shoes. Satan proceeded to introduce him to me, "Beezie!!! This is Lailah. I told you I'd find one!"

Belial shrugged, "I found him and her going at it in the center of that mass of limbs over there."

"We weren't 'going at it'," the angel dared to retaliate, "only dancing."

Belial grinned evilly, "I meant the fact you were about to bite our darling princess's neck, pure boy."

"And you _stopped_ him," said Satan in a downcast way. Not thinking about that, not thinking about that, not thinking about that… I mean, come on, it's like figuring out a kid sister has grown up enough to attain a sex life. I'm certainly a mature enough entity to get used to it, it just involves a degree of suppression on my visual imagination.

Ok, back to reality. Satan's current mood: petulant five-year-old. Appropriate response: cajoling and trickery. "Well, I'm glad to see you took such good care of yourself. You ran right out of Hell, you know. You had us pretty worried there."  
"Yeah…" Satan began to look guilty. Good so far.  
"So now that you know where the vampires are, and you can come back, you want to go home now?" Belial edged up behind the boy, knowing the routine—I distract the Princess, he removes the problem.

"Can Lailah come too?" She turned to the boy oblivious to my cringing. "You'll like it there. It's all cozy and homey!" It's a gigantic palace made of gold looking down onto the dirty city of Pandemonium and a lake of fire, Princess. But if you want to call it cozy, sure, whatever, you run this circus. Or at least you think you do, and that's what matters. Actually, she was the one that dragged the greater powers in Hell halfway across the mortal world on a tantrum and a whim. Maybe she runs this show a little more than I realize.  
In any case, this was bad. I had been pre-empted from my attempts to distract her away from her newest cling-buddy. "Well, Satan, are you sure an _angel_ will want to accompany us to Hell? I mean, he probably is pretty happy in _Heaven_." Please, please take the hint, Princess.

Satan sighed aggravated, it was obvious she was completely oblivious. "He's a vampire. He'll enjoy all the blood and soul sucking galore down in hell. Why would he be in heaven?" She giggled at my supposed stupidity. "Silly Beezie." Did I have to slap a label reading 'angel' on his forehead, wave flags, throw confetti, and get the heavenly chorus to pronounce him as one of their own? How do you get her to pay attention?!

I watched as Lailah's hazel eyes darted between the devil clinging to his arm and myself, the demon that would probably end up deciding his fate as soon as she let go. I could almost see the mental thoughts flashing through those young eyes of his before he did what I couldn't have expected. Ignoring Belial's presence behind him, Lailah pulled Satan close, causing a gasp to issue from her mouth. With a quick nip at an earlobe, he lowered himself to her neck and bit it. Satan's eyes went wide before she closed them, cradling Lailah close as he gave her, her first hickey.

The angel was mincemeat.

"You have _massive balls_," Belial intoned, eyes round, as the angel pulled away. He seemed to realize just what he'd said and smirked, then let his gaze rest unashamedly at the boy's crotch, as if to verify the hypothesis.

Lailah's face was in complete shock, but not any normal shock. Like the shock of finding out your next door neighbor's cousin's aunt's grandfather's cat was killed by your motorcycle; but you're not shocked at the fact you killed the cat. It's more of a shock that you're eighty year old neighbor's cousin's aunt's grandfather is still alive.

Poor thing. At least it meant he'd be thinking about unpleasantness involving Belial, which would distract him from the far more painful, fatal, unpleasantness he was about to endure from me.

I used the energy that was about to be expended in blowing a gasket to transport the four of us as close to Hell as I could. It was a considerable amount of energy—it landed us in the desert waste of Gehenna, almost there. It also left me with enough energy to summon up what was essentially a Big Fucking Sword of +5 castration. "So apparently it's not enough that you can get away with whatever you bloody well want to and still keep the title of angel—you have to indulge in the most overacted, cliché fetish in existence, let your date hold your arguments for you, charm a girl who doesn't have the experience to know what a pathetic little twat you are, and then you have the gall to think you can fuck with me. I'm going to smear your fashion-model pout across several planes of existence, you glittering, useless imbecile. Seriously, you divine bunch—if a hotel heiress and a jellyfish propagated, and fed their offspring on nothing but foit gras and vanilla pudding, that baby would still have more spine than you."

"Beelzebub? Epic similes are not intimidating. You can keep your dignity where Homer faltered."

"Yes, thank you, Belial."

Lailah's hazel eyes flashed with irritation. He wasn't happy either. Epic similes apparently weren't his piece of pie. He took a step towards me, his hair fluttering slightly. "Like hell I can get away with whatever I want! I have to– " We could feel him draw upon his powers of 'divinity', but Satan decided to draw it to a close.

Her small form stepped between the two of us, her raven black wings stretching out wide, the feathers flying in a flurry around her as she made herself a barrier. Her eyes glowed in anger, and I was reminded this small, puny, twig of a female demon was the devil. She shrieked, the sound echoing around us. We could almost feel the Lake of Fire's wave lash out at 'innocent' souls nearby. She was pissed. "I don't care if he's an angel, demon, vampire, or fucking mortal! Lailah is mine!" She glanced back at the angel boy, and he lowered his magic. As much as I hate to admit it, she already had him wrapped around her pinky. "Just as Beezie is mine! And I don't want the two of you to touch each other! Got it?!?!"

"No sharing?" Belial teased slightly, hooking a finger in one of Lailah's belt loops and beginning to pulled the wide-eyed angel towards him,

"NONE!" She practically tackled the angel to the ground, hissing at Belial like a foul mouthed kitten. "I don't want your filthy soul raping rapist's hands near _my_ vampire." Wow. I'd seen dragons less possessive of their hordes. Although I'm told mortal "fangirls" are in fact more terrifying to behold when their "yaoi" is threatened.


End file.
